The Elven Games (9)

01/25/2013 by SAM | 11 Comments

Last time with Tribba left her house surrounded by werewolves. If you are new to the story, you can start at the beginning by clicking here.

Tribba slept fitfully that night. Every time she awoke, she thought she heard howling outside her window. She rose from her bed; her body slickened with sweat, and crawled to the window.  Gliding carefully up the wall, she peeked over the windowsill, ignoring the shaking of her fingers, and looked through the thick diamond-shaped glass. Sometimes the moon lit the garden beneath her window and she sighed, pleased to realize she had only been dreaming. Other times the moon hid behind dark clouds, sinister in shape, and she quivered, unable to leave the window until she could see.

“Come to bed, Tribba.” Larss voice said sleepily from the warmth of their bed. “The werewolves are gone. There’s nothing to fear. Come, darling, rest.”
Tribba shook her head this time. “No. There is something out there. I can hear it.”
Larss rose in the bed, cocked his head to one side, and listened carefully. “I hear nothing, Tribba. Please, love, come to bed.”
Still Tribba hesitated. “I can’t. Not ‘til the moon comes out.”

Larss sighed audibly and threw the covers back. He joined Tribba at the window and pulled her to her full height. Looking out the window, he said, “That’s a big cloud. The night will be almost over by the time the moon reappears. There is nothing amiss out there.” He searched Tribba’s eyes until he could lock on them. “Please, won’t you come to bed, Tribba, dear?”

She allowed Larss to lead her back to bed. He helped her in, tucked her in, and then snuggled close against her from his side. Enveloped in his strength, she quickly fell asleep.

The sun shone warmly on Tribba’s face as she tended to the small yet tidy garden filled with a rainbow of flowers. Edgar hovered just beyond her sight practicing casting spells using the fairy dust he was given. A gentle breeze ran its fingers through Edgar’s hair, tousling it a bit, before stealing away the fairy dust and scattering it around the garden. Edgar cursed, which made Tribba giggle with delight.

“I never imagined you cursing. Don’t let Sister Wind bother you. She’s just jealous that you aren’t playing with her.”
Edgar turned to Tribba. “The wind’s not the problem. I’m running out of fairy dust and I have yet to perfect one spell.”
Tribba laughed again. “Once you’ve been blessed by the fairies, your dust never runs out. The pouch is bottomless. It only ceases to work when you give it away or lose it. Don’t do either, and you will be just fine.” She snipped a baby pink Gerbera daisy and tucked it behind Edgar’s ear. She smiled as she stepped back. “That’s what you needed. Now Sister Wind will play with that and leave your fairy dust alone.”
Edgar whisked it away with a flourish. “A pink flower? You challenge my intelligence, but must you challenge my manhood?” He said, the words cross and bitter leaving his lips.
Tribba frowned. “Well, I’m sorry. Frosh! Larss wears pink regularly and his manhood has never been questioned!”
“I am not a dwarf. I am human, and human men do not wear pink. It’s a sign of femininity. I’m already a laughing stock. I don’t need to add to it by wearing pink! What if someone were to see!” He threw the flower to the ground and stomped on it. “I would never be taken seriously.”

Black clouds formed over Tribba’s head. The sun hid smartly behind them. She said nothing, just grunted, picked the flower up from the ground, caressing its broken petals. Her eyes pierced his as she went through the back door into the house. The door slammed loudly and Edgar realized he had pushed her too far.

“Tribba!” he called, forgetting what he was doing and running for the door. He tried the doorknob but it wouldn’t move. She had locked it. “Tribba, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be harsh. Please, let me in?”

Edgar continued to knock but Tribba did not open the door. He heard a low growling behind him. He turned slowly, terrified of what he might find. A strange wolf-like creature stood behind him on all fours, lips curled up in a snarl, and saliva rolled down his jaw and dropped to the ground between his paws. Edgar screamed and knocked on the door harder, but Tribba refused to answer. The werewolf lunged, his muscles powerful as he leaped, and snapped Edgar’s neck as they fell. He tore into the delicate flesh of Edgar’s neck before sending his full force into Tribba’s door. Blood replaced the saliva on his lips, and he ran three times more into the door before it opened. Tribba stood there, horrified at the macabre scene in front of her. The wolf’s lips curled up in a sneer, and words fell from his mouth.

“Behold your champion. Who will fight to save you now?”

Tribba rose from the bed wailing. Larss rose with her, noting the wetness of her nightclothes. She trembled, and her breath came in heaves. She turned to Larss with widened eyes.

“Where’s Edgar?”

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Studio 30+ writing prompts this week were Dreams and without kids. This is “dreams”.

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HereDeixis – In linguistics, deixis refers to the phenomenon wherein understanding the meaning of certain words and phrases in an utterance requires contextual information. →

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